


Regarding Alien Parasites

by raven_aorla



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Asexual Character, Canon Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, Mentions Of The Doctor - Freeform, TMA Safehouse AU, Torchwood Season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: Torchwood learns of a species of aliens who are incorporeal on our plane of reality and feed on fear, infecting humans in symbiotic relationships to do their bidding. Torchwood seeks to solve this problem by grabbing one of these infected humans from a safehouse in Scotland. Oh, and the guy with him, who seems nice enough.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Owen Harper & Toshiko Sato
Comments: 96
Kudos: 137





	1. Jon

**Author's Note:**

> Let's ignore the respective dates when TMA and Torchwood are supposed to take place. TMA diverges from canon after ep 159, but you will appreciate certain references more if you know ep 160. The Torchwood side takes place vaguely after the three-episode Owen arc.
> 
> I'm leaving descriptions of the podcast characters pretty vague because it's hard for me to choose, but I have decided to have Jon sometimes use a cane to help with all his canon-typical pain and exhaustion. 
> 
> Will update frequently.

Jon had fallen asleep tucked against Martin’s side with their legs tangled together, underneath a fluffy duvet in the relatively large safehouse bed. But he woke up on a narrow cot with a single blanket wrapped around him, his head on Martin’s lap and Martin’s fingers carding through his hair. The fluorescent lighting was harsh, but Martin’s face softened from worry to relief. 

“Good to have you back, Jon.”

“What happened?” Jon asked, sitting up and immediately feeling dizzy. He could see for himself that they were in a cell with a clear glass barrier on one side, concrete walls on the other three, with no windows. There was a strange buzzing/wooshing "sound" in the background, like white water rapids full of bees. He Knew that Martin couldn't hear it. 

Martin returned Jon's glasses, then gestured at a CCTV camera pointed at them to indicate that they should be as circumspect as possible. His relief twisted into guilt. “I’m sorry, I tried, I did my best, but they had guns and they shot you with a tranquilizer dart before I had time to even think about…”

“It’s all right. I’d rather you were okay than hurt from putting up a...a futile struggle for my sake. At least there isn’t anything circus-like about our current surroundings.” He tried to put a bit of wry humor into the last sentence.

“Oh God, no.” He picked up a sealed bottle of water from the floor and twisted off the cap, handing it to Jon. Martin continued, “They didn’t harm me, just some threats to get me in the car without having to be tossed in after you. They said they didn’t want to hurt us, but they didn’t want the Beholding to look through you until we’d reached ‘safety’. Claimed to be an entirely human secret organization that fights aliens. A bit Men in Black, if they’re telling the truth. They didn’t put a bag over my head until the last hour or two of the very long drive. I saw some good cows, at least.”

Jon took a sip of water. One of the things he loved about Martin was how well their priorities meshed these days. “What color?” 

“Reddish brown, fluffy, hair in their eyes. I think they were highland cattle, but my phone was confiscated so I couldn’t check.” 

“Very good cows. I approve.” Jon looked around and frowned. He took a moment to frame his questions so they wouldn’t accidentally compel Martin. He knew his control was shaky at the moment. “I am curious to know the following: where my cane is, whether you picked up any clues about where we are, and what that creature is. I suspect they told you it was an alien.”

Martin gestured at the softly growling bug-eyed figure, clad in a boiler suit. “That’s what they said. A ‘weevil’. Maybe from the Hunt? Maybe everyone here is part of the Hunt. I hope not. Er, they brought your cane and said you can have it after you’ve been debriefed, which I hope isn’t a euphemism. I kicked up a fuss when I thought they were going to separate us, but it turns out it was just an offer to let me visit the staff break room under supervision. I didn’t want there to be a chance of you waking up alone. Never again.”

“Martin…” Jon murmured fondly and let his head drop onto his shoulder. 

“We’re in Wales, that’s all I know,” Martin said, wrapping an arm around him.

“Welcome to Cardiff, specifically,” said a cheerful voice, accompanied by two sets of footsteps. It sounded American, though Jon couldn’t pinpoint a region beyond the Hollywood generic. The speaker was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a blue coat and vaguely World War II aesthetic. He was accompanied by a more fragile-looking man in a leather jacket and slim cut jeans, pale and somber-faced, who was carrying a medical bag in one hand and Jon’s cane in the other. “Jon, right? Your partner Martin told us your first names but didn’t want to share anything else while you were out. I’m Captain Jack Harkness and this is Dr. Owen Harper.”

Dr. Harper inclined his head. “You should probably have more of that water. Sorry if you don’t feel fully alert yet. I had to estimate the dose beforehand and didn’t realize you’d be quite that scrawny.”

“He’s _wiry_ ,” Martin muttered, sounding as if he truly believed it. 

Undeserved compliment aside, Jon only briefly indulged in a novel frisson of happiness at being called Martin’s partner. Compelling the answers as he needed out of their captors - however polite they were being for now - was going to take a lot out of him in his current state. But his and Martin’s safety depended on it. Meeting Captain Harkness’ eyes, Jon enunciated carefully: “ _Do you have any affiliation with the Dread Powers, and if so, which?"_

“No affiliation.”

_“What is your organization?”_

“We are Torchwood, outside the government and beyond the police, defending humanity against alien threats and preparing it for a future of increased alien contact. Specifically, we are Torchwood Three, dedicated to handling the side effects of a local rift in space and time.There have actually been a few high-profile alien invasions in recent years, but almost nobody I talk to seems to remember this, which is a phenomenon I’ve been investigating independently. Something about cracks in the skin of the universe? But that isn’t the issue at hand.”

Jon agreed with that last remark, as disquieting as it was, so he cut in with the next question. _”What do you want with us?”_

“The Fears are actually a noncorporeal, parasitic alien race who feed on negative psychic energy, can warp reality to create terrifying situations, and have aspirations of galactic conquest. The colonists that have made it here are operating subtly through human hosts and worshippers for now, but given the opportunity, they’ll create a large enough portal to their reality that they can invade in full force and become the new dominant species. If my source is correct, you’re the first human being to be under the influence of all fourteen well-established subtypes. We want to use you to drive them from our planet, but only with your informed consent.” Captain Harkness winked. “But if your third question meant ‘you’ as in just me, I’d like to invite you to a double date because you two are _adorable_.”

“That’s enough,” Jon declared, before things took a dive towards the uncomfortable. Martin was blushing. 

Dr. Harper raised his eyebrows. “I’ll pay you a hundred quid to ask him about his past before he has time to recover. No, two hundred.”

“I can assign you to pterodactyl cleanup duty for the rest of our lives, Owen,” Captain Harkness said.

“Unless absolutely necessary, I’m not going to make bargains with someone who only breathes to facilitate speaking and not at any other time,” Jon said calmly. There were much worse things he could be dealing with than an undead physician with apparent good intentions.

“Wait, is _he_ a ghost?” Martin asked, clearly fighting back a giggle. Jon was still a tad embarrassed about the time he’d thought Martin might be one. 

“More of a zombie,” Dr. Harper said, sounding resigned. “Good thing I don’t eat brains, though, it’d be slim pickings around here. After I got through Tosh.”

Ignoring whatever workplace banter this was, Jon turned to Martin and got to the point. “Martin, everything Captain Harkness said is true. At least from his perspective. They really think they can do, er, a sort of reverse ritual, I suppose we could call it?”

All traces of amusement vanished from Martin’s demeanor. “But even if they can - which would be, well, lovely, don’t get me wrong - what will it involve? What will it do to you, Jon? Are you going to consider that factor for once?”


	2. Jack

Four months ago, Jack had received three envelopes in the post. One was addressed TO CPT JACK HARKNESS. The second, TO THE TEAMMATES OF CPT HARKNESS. The third, TO THE ARCHIVIST c / o CPN JH. They were otherwise blank. Jack would have treated them as either pranks or potential weapons if they hadn’t been a very particular shade of dark blue, and if the stamps hadn’t either shown pictures of wolves or straight-up said BAD WOLF. So he did basic scans for anthrax or whatever and opened the first one far away from any mortals, but he suspected who they were from. He was right.

It wasn’t clear whether this message was a version of the Doctor that Jack had met, or one whom he had yet to meet, but in either case it was one who knew him and trusted him. The Doctor apologized for not intervening directly in the situation, but if any of the Fears managed to take over the Doctor and/or the TARDIS, it would be catastrophic beyond belief. Wherever the Doctor was, personal timeline-wise, it was right after helping expel the Fears from a different planet far into the future. Which only knew how to do it partly because of records from a similar incident on Earth in the distant past. Which was another reason the Doctor couldn’t get involved directly, because the Doctor hadn’t. Wouldn’t. Isn’t. 

Stable time loops. Jack had a serious love-hate relationship with them.

From going over the materials from the first two envelopes, Jack and the team learned the basics about what the Doctor called the Fears (their real name was something the human voice box couldn’t approximate). They’d wanted to fight the Fears immediately, especially after getting a sense of how horrible they were, but the plan depended on the Fears not seeing Torchwood as a threat. Whatever poor bastard “chosen one” who was supposed to be “ready” soon would be much harder to find if the Fears suspected anything. 

Then Torchwood's own research taught them about a place in London called the Magnus Institute, a nexus of that type of artificially created and harvested fear. The majority of people thought it was a stuffy academic organization that researched the paranormal and collected statements from anyone who thought they had encountered them. Even many of the employees seemed to think so. It wasn't a surprise that when someone finally triggered the sensors and lit up the alert system which Torchwood had set up according to the Doctor's instructions, they were from that very Institute. Fleeing it. Torchwood waited until Patient Zero of the potential apocalypse stopped running. Waited a few days after that for a sense of calm to settle in, for their quarry to relax and lower their guard. This person could be the key to saving the world, but they could also be used to end the world as everyone knew it, and their own panic might even set that off. 

The man looked so innocent when Jack and the team he'd brought along broke into the little cabin in the highlands. Slight of frame, curled up in bed, curled around a companion, the face of vulnerability. He started to open his eyes, so Jack shot the tranquilizer dart right into his neck. 

They hadn't expected a human uninfected by any Fear parasite (though bearing recent psychic wounds) to be there with him, aware of what the other man was but still loving and protecting him. Martin's attitude towards Jon was evidence that Jon was fighting the thing inside him and was on the side of Earth. Martin also seemed to be Jon's strongest anchor to humanity, so it made sense to bring him too. 

It worried everyone slightly that Jon slept for four more hours than Owen and Tosh had aimed for while mixing up the custom sedative. Knocking him out was a regrettable necessity. The Beholding, the Fear that fed on the feeling of being watched and exposed, would have more trouble seeing this operation if it couldn’t use Jon as a set of eyes. Being near the Rift was supposed to create enough psionic interference to obscure the Fears from detecting Torchwood’s actions, like the sound of a waterfall overwhelming any smaller sounds nearby. It wasn't full protection, though. They needed to tread carefully. 

Jack didn’t enjoy the sensation of Jon’s questions pulling answers from him, like swallowing part of a long string and having it spooled back up his throat again, but he suspected Jon needed to do this to trust the answers. It was hard to feel anything but compassion for someone who wore fourteen flavors of hell on the skin that peeked out from his sleeves. And right hand. And all over his face. And in the slash mark on his throat. Probably other places too. Along with the streaks of premature gray in his hair.

Now that Jack was done answering the questions, he noticed the retro tape recorder sitting on the little cot next to Jon, green light showing it was running. “Where’d that come from?”

Jon looked nervous, but Martin cut in before he could say anything. For such a soft and cuddly man, really a gentle giant teddy bear type, there was steel in every word he used in Jon’s defense. “It’s a side effect of Jon’s powers. Whenever something interesting happens. He doesn’t even have to be there, it just has to be related to him. He doesn’t do it on purpose.”

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not mad at you. Does this mean your, uh, patron is spying on us, though?” Jack wasn’t clear on what that would mean, but he had the impression it wouldn’t be good. 

“Not necessarily. They're connected to me, not directly to the Eye." Jon didn’t elaborate. 

Jack cleared his throat. “We-e-ll, if we’ve built up enough mutual trust all around, how about we discuss our next moves in the conference room with the rest of the team?”

Owen returned Jon’s cane and Jon got to his feet, muttering for Martin to leave him be and that he could've walked fine even without it. Three steps later, Jon crumpled onto the floor. 

“Jon!” Martin cried out, rushing to his side.

Jon opened his eyes. “I’m fine, I’m fine, just...hungry.” 

“I’m sure there’s food upstairs -”

“No, Martin, I’m _hungry_. I haven’t had a statement in days, and I’d been running on only written ones to start with. I think coming back from sedation was the last straw.” He let Martin help him into a sitting position and looked up at Jack and Owen. “I need statements. Accounts of people having suffered some kind of - of - you see, my job is to take in knowledge about fear, secondhand, and if I don’t get it - Martin, I don’t know how to, could you please?”

“Jon needs a story about an encounter with one of the Powers,” Martin said. “He’s already heard all of mine. He can force them out of people, too, but that damages them mentally.”

The poor man was now shaking. “Even if you give freely, you’ll have nightmares, and…”

“I don’t sleep anymore,” Owen said, sounding determined. “Want to hear how I ended up a dead man walking? Might be nice for me to get it off my chest. Yeah? Okay, then Jack, get out of here.”

Martin was clearly reluctant to leave Jon behind, but he also seemed to want to give Owen his privacy. Jack put on his best charming smile (pure charm, no serious flirtatious intent for now) and tried to put him at ease while leading him away. As they were leaving, they could hear Jon’s voice say steadily:

_“Statement of Dr. Owen Harper, regarding his life, death, and subsequent undeath in the service of Torchwood Three. Statement taken directly from subject…”_

The concern and weariness on Martin’s face didn’t wear off even when he showed polite interest in the main area of the Hub. Jack remembered that Martin couldn't exactly be well-rested right now. “Would you like some coffee? Ianto’s is the best.”

Martin smiled. “I’m more of a tea man, thank you. I’d love to be able to make a cup for Jon, too.”

It was nice to see Martin and Ianto click instantly. Sure, one was a nervous but amiable Englishman in a snuggly jumper, while the other was a friendly but slightly guarded Welshman in a suit, but they had each other smiling and laughing from first introductions. 

“Excellence in providing your office with hot beverages should be something that can go on a CV,” Martin quipped when looking at Ianto’s elaborate coffeemaker like it was yet another alien artifact. Ianto handed him the kettle and nudged the variety box of tea bags in his direction. Both men got to work with expressions of contentment.

“No rivalry between the House of Bean and the House of Leaf? I was hoping for some drama, maybe a bit of hair-pulling.” Jack mock-pouted. Anything else he was imagining, he courteously kept to himself. 

Ianto shooed Jack away. “We don't care what you're hoping for. Go ask Tosh and Gwen what they want from the Thai takeaway we voted on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the idea of Martin and Ianto bonding was what made me want to write this fic in the first place.


	3. Tosh

Tosh thanked Ianto for the large mug of coffee and box of drunken noodles waiting for her usual spot at the conference table. She hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past twenty-four hours. Too tense while waiting for Jack, Owen, and Gwen to return from Scotland. Too consumed with the calculations and fine-tuning she’d been working on for months, even when she had also been dealing with more immediate crises.

Ianto said, “You’re welcome. Martin, this is Dr. Toshiko Sato, also known as Tosh, our tech genius. Tosh, this is Martin, who’s a...I don’t know how to summarize it.

“Research and/or personal assistant to spooky people of varying quality," Martin said with a self-deprecating twist to his mouth. He shook hands with her. "It's nice to meet you. Ianto, which one is the fried rice?"

Owen and Jon arrived next. Jon looked much better than the glimpse Tosh had of him being carried in unconscious. His face looked less pinched and his frame appeared less fragile. The cane he brought with him seemed more like a precaution than something he was actively using. He greeted Tosh when introduced, though he didn't shake hands, which was understandable given all the scar tissue wrapped around his right palm. However, he laced the fingers of his left hand with Martin's when he took a seat. Martin relaxed a little more and seemed content to eat one-handed. Jon's place at the table only had a cup of tea and a thin slice of toast with the barest scraping of jam. He put a running tape recorder down next to his plate, as if that was the real entree.

Owen, on the other hand, looked like he'd just pulled a ten-hour shift doing the most disturbing autopsies of his career. He sat next to Tosh at a spot where there was, of course, nothing to eat or drink. It still made her slightly sad. 

Across from Owen, Ianto and Martin resumed an animated conversation. Something about the relative scariness of being captured by cannibals vs. being trapped in your home by a woman full of flesh-eating worms. 

After a minute or two of subtly waving at them, Owen loudly sighed. "Oi, we're going to get started in a minute. You two can have your own meeting of Lonely Boss-Shaggers Anonymous later." 

Tosh made sure Owen saw her frown. Ianto looked annoyed but not as upset as he would have once, before the thing he had with Jack had become more solid. Martin, though, looked like he'd been slapped.

Jon fixed his eyes on Owen, and even Tosh felt uncomfortable at the secondhand scrutiny. His voice was quiet and cold as ice. "Don't inflict your own loneliness on others, Owen Harper. My compassion becomes severely limited if someone hurts this man."

"I'm sorry," Owen mumbled.

The gaze continued for a few seconds, then softened. In a more normal voice, Jon said, "Also, I stopped being Martin's boss long before before we got together - not to imply any judgment of your unconventional workplace - and I have never been interested in sex. So the hypothetical club would be a bit of a misnomer." He sipped his tea. Martin let out a tiny chuckle.

"How long have you two been together?" Tosh asked, desperate to lighten the mood. Owen was staring at the wall behind Ianto's head and Ianto was acting fascinated with his lunch.

Martin beamed. "Fifteen days, right?" 

"Sixteen. But we've known each other for years." 

"Why a tape recorder, rather than something more modern?" She wasn't looking down on the choice, only curious. 

"Some of it's a habit. It's also one of the few forms of media the entity we call the Stranger can't alter after the fact." Jon tilted his head like he was listening to something. "Jack and Gwen are on their way, if anyone here wants to pull themselves together first."

Ianto raised an eyebrow at Owen, who started looking very interested in the table.

Sure enough, the pair arrived ten seconds later. Gwen’s long black hair was a bit disheveled from the rain, though Jack still managed to look perfect as usual. Gwen explained that she’d been warning the police and other local authorities about bizarre phenomena that was likely to occur within the next forty-eight hours, if not less, without telling them that it was because of the “banishing ritual” they were going to attempt.

“Do you think you can get the Rift storm working by then?” Jack asked.

Tosh gulped. They already knew how to open the Rift outright, inevitably causing disaster in the process, but deliberately creating a small portal within it with minimal side effects was a whole other matter. “I might need a lot more coffee. Let me tell you what I’ve managed so far.”

After Tosh finished updating everyone, Jack filled Jon and Martin in on whatever details they still needed to know, and Jon gave them information about the Fears that would be less likely to be deterred by the Rift and would be the quickest to make a move if they didn’t hurry. The one known as the Spiral (which fed on fear of losing your mind or being deceived) could move freely and perceive anything it wanted because it was unfettered by conventional reality. Jon was on relatively peaceful terms with one of its "avatars" (what Jon called hosts like himself), but there was no guarantee that it would be the aspect that showed up. Then there was The Web (feeding on fear of being trapped or controlled), which could hijack the bodies of spiders as well as of humans, and statistically there were probably a few spiders in the building. The End could go anywhere there was death, but at least it was the most passive of the Fears, what with its preferred flavor of fear being inevitable.

“That being said, you should refrain from dying until this is all over, to avoid drawing the End’s special attention,” Jon told Jack. "It must find you very intriguing."

“Who told you?” Jack asked. 

Jon snorted. "Did you or did you not snatch me out of my bed while I was sleeping because I'm an avatar of the Beholding?"

“It's more because you've been marked by all of them, but fair point. Also you're making me sound like a terrible person.”

Martin snorted in a way that sounded very similar to Jon. “Not as terrible as the _other_ avatar of the Beholding. More to the point, who dies often enough for that to be a relevant warning?"

“The Eye told me there was some kind of accident in Jack's past, related to time travel." Jon nibbled at his cold toast. 

“It’s not like he dies for fun,” Ianto grumbled. “...Except maybe that one time.”

"I swear that was carelessness," Jack countered, with the tone of a well-worn argument. Gwen was too busy with her mango and sticky rice dessert to comment, but Tosh caught her rolling her eyes.

“But rumors spread,” Jon said loudly. "We need to be vigilant."

Martin's grip on his fork became less steady. "What about the Lonely? The Lonely is everywhere, too, and they’ve had time to find a new avatar, and it whisks you off to a pocket dimension to make you even more alone.”

Jon squeezed his hand. “But we know how to keep them at bay. The physical presence of caring individuals, and reminders of loved ones.”

"It's not, it's not always, not always that simple -"

"I will not. Let it. Take you. Again." Jon looked at Martin as intensely as he'd looked at Owen, but with tenderness instead. "There's a reason it needs a new avatar. I will remind it, if I have to."

There was a long, awkward silence.

“Strict buddy system, everyone,” Jack concluded. “No more spending any time alone where a Fear might sneak up on you. Any Fear. Those of you who normally live alone, figure out sleepover arrangements for tonight if we aren’t ready by then. If you finish your main tasks, find and kill spiders. But in teams.”

"It's unfair to the spiders," Martin protested weakly. 

Jon made a show out of finishing the toast. “I promise that after the Web is gone from the Earth and spiders can no longer spy for them, I’ll always let you take them outside rather than killing them. Alright?”

"Sweet, aren't they?" Gwen asked Tosh while leaving the meeting. She didn't need to elaborate. 

Tosh felt reasonably safe returning to her work station, since the open plan meant she could easily see her teammates bustling around. Remembering Jon’s advice about the Lonely, she took the picture of her mother that she usually kept in a drawer and put it in a more prominent place. She lost herself in her work, trying not too hard to think about everything that depended on it.

“How’s it going?” Owen asked about two hours later. He was carrying a spray can of insecticide and a roll of paper towels. “Gwen and I are spider hunting to pass the time, but Martin and Jon asked her to help with something. And I wasn’t in the mood to talk to them.”

“After you were rude for no reason?” Tosh asked, not looking away from the computer screen. She wasn’t much for confrontation, but she had really thought Owen had become a more mature person recently, and it was disappointing to see him regress. 

Owen sounded tired. “There was a reason. You saw that Jon didn’t eat much at the lunch meeting, right? That’s because I’d just fed him.”

That did make Tosh stare at him, ridiculous visions of vampirism dancing in her head. “With what?”

“My trauma. The alien bonded with him gives him a compulsion to collect people’s stories about...paranormal encounters. It eats the feelings you have about it, and it provides him with all the nutrients he needs in exchange. Any human food he eats is just for comfort or to make his boyfriend feel better.” Owen shook his head. “He could have forced me, but I offered. It’s supposed to be less upsetting if you offer of your own free will. That doesn’t mean it’s not upsetting. I felt rubbed raw, you know? That whole fear of being exposed. Makes you feel like you're reliving it. I didn't know about Martin being targeted by a host for the Lonely. Yeah, I know that doesn’t make trying to hurt Ianto and Martin’s feelings okay. But I didn’t want you to think I was randomly being an arse. Everyone here deserves better than how I’ve treated you in the past.”

“You deserve better than what you’ve been through,” Tosh said.

He put down the paper towels and insecticide. “I wouldn’t be so sure. In any case, bad things have happened to you too, but you’re so much more of a better person than I am.”

Her cheeks burned from his sudden sincerity, too embarrassed to even thank him for the compliment. “Do you...uh...want a hug?” 

A pause, a nod, then he wrapped his arms around her and held on for a long time.


	4. Ianto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains slightly more specific spoilers than usual, in the form of discussing a supporting TMA character's backstory which is treated like a twist in-show. The end notes will make it clear who.

Ianto and Jack had agreed not to get too inappropriate during work hours when the others were near, but they’d sometimes sneak a quick, light kiss or two. Ianto’s mouth was still tingling with it as he walked from Jack’s office to the records room to fetch a few files. Jack offered to escort him, but then the phone rang and it was a call from UNIT, too important to hang up on for something so brief. Ianto slipped away, keeping an eye out for spiders.

He should have paid more attention to what door he went through. By the time he saw the psychedelic fever of a carpet and the pulsing walls of the corridor he’d found himself in, the door had vanished behind him. His first instinct was to stay where he was rather than go deeper and make himself more difficult to find, but then he heard the laughter. A feminine voice, except one that had been stretched and warped, wriggled into his ears and was trying to burrow into his brain.

 _“Run, little lamb,”_ the voice cooed. Blind panic jolted through him, and he obeyed.

It felt like he ran for a long time. The corridors seemed to have endless curves (curlicues) and nausea-inducing wallpaper (fractals) and mirrors that showed his face, but covered in patterns (spirals). Eventually his legs and lungs couldn’t take it any longer and he crumpled onto the carpet, trying not to cry. The thing that lived in these corridors would like that.

Then a translucent figure turned a corner, walking slowly. It looked human-shaped, like a young man in a shabby coat, bedraggled scarf, and unlaced boots, with long, curly blond hair and an expression of terrible sadness.

“Are you trapped too?” Ianto whispered.

The translucent figure jumped, startled, then scuttled over to Ianto. “You can see me? Nobody in here has ever seen me. Not even Helen. But you’ve got traces of energy...it’s like the Vast, but not quite, it has the scale but not the terror...diffused with fierce love...like a vicious but protective wolf…”

“Do you know if there is a way out of here?” Ianto asked, sitting up properly. 

“There’s three ways. One is by being let go. Another is by becoming the Distortion, which isn’t really a way out but lets you see things other than the corridors. Tried that, didn’t agree with me. Also it made me torment and kill people? I hope it made me. I hope it wasn’t my choice.” He let out a hysterical giggle. “Last, there’s a door that does lead out, but I can’t turn the knob because I don’t have a body anymore. Because the Distortion didn’t agree with me. Like I said. And nobody I find in here and try to team up with can perceive me in any way. This doesn’t normally happen to people who end up in here. Usually they shrivel up and vanish once it’s done squeezing all the fear out of you. How can you see me?”

“Let’s not worry about how I can see you,” Ianto said, though he could wager a guess. His new hopefully-friend offered a hand to help him up, but Ianto’s hand went straight through him. This made him look like he was going to full-on sob, so Ianto continued, “My name’s Ianto Jones, what’s yours?”

The ghostly being wiped his face with his sleeve. “Michael Shelley. Or maybe I’m the Statement of Michael Shelley. I think that’s why I didn’t vanish after the Distortion decided to use someone else as its vessel, because I made a statement to the Archivist right before. The Archivist’s memory is a powerful anchor, and my first death was in the service of the Eye. Not that I _consented_ to being forcefully melded with the Spiral in a particular manner at a particular time in order to confuse and weaken it."

“The Archivist and the Eye? You mean Jon and the Beholding?” Ianto knew all the Fears and many of their human agents had multiple names. The Spiral had several: It Is Not What It Is, The Throat of Delusion, The Twisting Deceit. All rather worrisome when lost in its pocket dimension. 

“Maybe. I wasn’t good with names at the time. Or physics.” They started walking together. Michael pulled a crumpled map out of his coat, the paper as insubstantial as the rest of him. It looked like the product of someone holding a pen with their non-dominant hand and attempting to draw a labyrinth while dancing in a mosh pit. He tapped a spot in the middle, then a spot at the edge. “First one takes you to the heart of the thing. Second one is where I found the emergency exit. I don’t know why there even is one. Maybe the hope keeps people running. The best lies have a kernel of truth.”

Ianto couldn’t help but notice that any wall mirrors which showed Ianto with correct proportions showed Michael as impossibly tall, thin, and with sharp and spindly hands that almost dragged on the floor. A reminder of how the Fears could warp the bodies of their hosts. Then he would blink, and there’d be only Ianto in the mirror, no Michael at all. 

“Don’t tell me about yourself,” Michael said after a few minutes of walking. “In case Helen hears. It might use that against you. Helen was a regular person once. An innocent person. I trapped her to feed on, but she survived long enough to become the new Distortion, and it’s better at being the Distortion the Spiral wants. Less distracted. Not so conflicted and grieving and vengeful and betrayed."

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

Michael walked straight through one of the many locked doors. Ianto had to wait for him to figure it out and emerge again. Instead of acknowledging the situation, Michael asked, “Do you know who won the last few World Cups?”

“Define ‘few’.”

“We don’t like definitions in here. Or facts.”

“You asked for facts.”

In an abrupt mood swing, Michael stamped his foot and whined, high pitched and miserable. “I said I was conflicted! Being an avatar of the fear of going STARK RAVING MAD doesn't exactly keep your mind and personality in top shape! Don't you think it’s impressive how coherent I am?!"

“I agree,” Ianto gently told this remnant of an ex-human-Fear-entity-hybrid, wondering yet again how this was his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Shelley's appearance and general vibe here are inspired by [this absolutely gorgeous animated tribute, which doesn't have any spoilers beyond what this chapter says.](https://youtu.be/ba7ykLDzgsk) He's definitely the Fear avatar I feel saddest for, and I wanted to give him a little h/c.


	5. Gwen

Gwen found Tosh crying at her work station, babbling about being almost done but being so tired and scared.

"It's going to be fine," Gwen told her, lightly rubbing her back. She told her as many comforting things she could think of before ending with: "Can I bring you anything?"

Tosh sniffled but composed herself. "Paracetamol and more tissues?" 

"Of course." Gwen returned with them as quickly as she could, plus some water. She didn't leave Tosh alone to her thoughts until she spotted Jon and Martin about to come over and talk to her. Strange to go from abducting them to thinking of them as sources of company, but that was Torchwood for you. 

When she got to the artifact storage room, Owen just gave her a grunt and a little wave. They worked in quiet tandem for a while until Jack suddenly swept in. "Where’s Ianto?”

Gwen looked up from yet another crate of Rift flotsam and saw that Jack was wide-eyed with worry. “I thought he was with you.”

“He was, but he went to put a few files away. It was only supposed to take a minute. Jon can’t sense him anywhere, either.”

“Look behind you,” Owen said, pointing at a yellow door that hadn’t been there moments earlier.

It creaked open, and a woman in a nicely tailored pantsuit stepped out. She looked normal enough. Then Gwen saw what her reflection in a shiny metal cabinet looked like. The reflection had frizzy hair that twisted and slithered like a less reptilian but more excitable Medusa, eyes a fraction too large for her face, and slender but huge hands with fingers that could wrap around a person’s waist and ended in sharp points. Her voice was calm. Pleasant. “I have the one you’re looking for, Captain.”

“What do you want?” Jack growled, look back and forth from her to her reflection.

“The Archivist. I’m sure it won’t be too much of a wrench. He’s not the easiest to get along with.” She inspected her fingernails, which her reflection accomplished with a sickening lengthening and bending of her neck. “I’ve been friendly towards him in the past, but attempting to rid Earth of the Fears is not something we can allow.”

“No deal,” Jack said. 

She laughed. It was like nails on a chalkboard, but autotuned by someone drunk. “The Spiral is more neutral than most, which means it can ally itself with many. I could bring many other Fears here, past your safeguards, ready to fight. You’d lose everyone. I’m going to be nice and give you an hour to think about it.” She returned to her door. Just before she closed it, she stuck her head out again and added, “By the way, I will be spending that entire hour destroying your lover’s mind.”

“Jack?” Gwen asked cautiously, approaching him while side-eyeing the evil door. It was the brightest yellow she’d ever seen. 

He buried his face in his hands. “Give me a moment.”

“Maybe Jon knows a way to fight the Spiral,” Owen suggested.

"I ordered him to hide." Jack took a few deep breaths. “The Spiral. Fear of losing your mind. Fear of being lied to. Fear of not being able to trust your senses. What’s its opposite?”

Gwen thought hard. “Maybe honesty? Truth? Hidden truth? Facts?”

“Facts.” Jack snapped his fingers. “Facts. Facts!”

“Are you having a stroke?” Owen asked, folding his arms. Gwen knew that the more stressed he was, the snarkier he got.

“A stroke of genius.” Jack pointed at Gwen. “The moment Tosh is ready, have her press the button or whatever triggers the storm. Anyone else who might be supporting Jon or protecting him needs to join him on the invisible lift. I showed it to him and he said that the perception filter works on the Fears too, not just uninfected people. That’s where he and Martin are now.”

Gwen grabbed his arm. “Are you going to run in there? We need you!”

Jack gently removed her hand from his arm. “You have each other. I...I need him. High alert, both of you.” Then he flung the door open and ran inside. It slammed shut behind him, then disappeared.

“Let’s go check on the others,” Gwen said. Owen nodded.

Tosh was with Jon and Martin, standing around nervously on the platform of the invisible lift while holding a small device that looked like a complex detonator. Gwen had practice talking to someone who was on that lift, as with the rest of the team, as long as she already knew someone was on it. Martin was lying on the floor, curled on his side with his head in Jon’s lap, holding a first-aid kit and a corkscrew for some reason. Jon was petting his hair and holding onto a running tape recorder.

“There’s worms,” Tosh said in a monotone. “As soon as I finished, when I saw I was ready, worms. They almost got me."

"The corkscrew is good for digging one out, though I didn't have to this time," Martin explained.

“The creature you call Janet went into a frenzy and broke out of her cell, though she’s still contained your dungeon,” Jon said, his eyes glazed over and looking at nothing. At least, nothing in front of him. “There are also spiders pouring out of the taps. You have worse news for us.”

Gwen was about to speak when a green door appeared in midair. Jack tumbled out and onto the lift, hauling Ianto along and nudging for Martin and Jon to make room. He let go of him in order to get clear of the door and kick it closed. It shuddered and creaked angrily before shattering into splinters. 

“Sorry, hope we weren’t gone long, time is different in there,” Jack said between coughs. 

“How’d you do that?” Martin asked. “I’ve been in there, and usually it only lets you out when it wants to. And is that who I think it is?”

“I’ve been called a fact of time and space by an authority on the subject who found me, uh, existentially disturbing, and facts are the very things the Spiral can't stand. The Throat of Delusion choked on me. Normally I would be more...considerate, heh. Otherwise I couldn’t have fought her on her home turf. I even managed not to die. We couldn’t have found the way out without our new friend.”

“I can’t see your 'new friend',” Gwen said, not dignifying the "Throat of Delusion choking" remark with a response.

“Me neither,” Tosh said. 

“I can,” Owen said, confused. 

“We can, too,” Jon said, indicating himself and Martin. "This one isn't new to us. Another version of him, at least. Are you somewhat human again now, Michael? Have you been this whole time? What's it like? ...Oh, that's unfortunate, sorry...Martin, help, I didn't mean to make him cry."

“I think you have to have been touched by a cosmic power other than the Spiral, and it doesn’t have to be one of the Fears,” Ianto said, letting Jack pull him close again.

That was when the Hub burst into the creepiest of flames: dark flames that illuminated nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the seeing ghost!Michael thing works in my head:
> 
> \- If Ianto hadn't been kissing Jack immediately before he got nabbed, he might not have been able to easily perceive ghost!Michael either, though he might have had the bizarre sense that someone was around through sheer secondhand Bad Wolf/Time Vortex exposure over time. 
> 
> \- An avatar of a different entity was trapped in the Spiral hallways for a time, but ghost Michael was frightened of that one. Michael Distortion was both vicious and nonchalant. Michael Shelley was a naturally timid person and now has eldritch PTSD. Similarly, he avoided Jon previous times Helen let him in because the last encounter between Jon and Distortion!Michael was so negative. 
> 
> \- Most of what Torchwood has encountered is unrelated to the Fears or any other cosmic power - it's a big universe full of many beasties - though that circus episode was totally Stranger vibes.


	6. Owen

“It’s the Desolation, maybe even the Cult of the Lightless Flame,” Martin gasped. “We have to go upstairs, up to where there’s air.”

“I’m ready to kick this off if you are, Jon,” Tosh said.

Michael turned to Owen and Jack. “There’s not enough room for everyone on that lift, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Owen said, his voice catching on the last word. He nudged Gwen on. 

Jack stepped off. “I can’t die permanently, so I can stay here. You go on the lift, Owen.”

“I must remind you that if you die before or during the ritual, the End will have the perfect homing beacon to our location,” Jon said.

"I can carry someone," Jack argued, sounding desperate.

"Jon's pretty light," Gwen suggested, no less desperate. 

Owen shook his head. "I’m not going to survive the plan in any case. I'd rather say goodbye now.”

“WHAT?” Tosh cried out. Gwen's eyes had gone huge. Ianto sighed, sad but apparently unsurprised. Owen felt guilty about all the times he'd discounted Ianto's canniness. 

“Jon explained it to me, and he’ll explain it to you.” Owen swallowed, a purely emotional reflex that served no purpose. “I...I care about all of you. Always have, even when I was shit at showing it. Respect my autonomy this time, Jack. If the ritual thingy does something weird to me before it takes me for good, I don't want any of you to see it. Get on the damn lift."

Tosh held out a shaking hand. "Owen, I…"

He put his hands on his pockets. Maybe that was cruel of him, but he just... couldn't. Not her, not now, not with all the regrets threatening to choke him. Holding her calmly a few hours earlier, as a colleague and friend, had been the finale he wanted. He pitched his voice to be as kind as possible, and met her eyes. "I know, Tosh, I know. It's flattering. I hope you have better taste in the future, along with better luck."

“He won’t be alone,” Ghost Boy said. “I’m ready. By the way, Archivist and Assistant, I’m sorry for everything bad I did to you.”

“You’re forgiven, Michael,” Martin reassured him. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to know the real you."

A shudder went through the earth, a small localized earthquake. Jon looked at the ceiling anxiously. “The same, Michael. You saved our lives a few times, as well."

'The Spiral is whimsical, what can I say?'

Jon nodded like this was solemn wisdom. "Indeed. I’m sorry, but we need to go up before either the Desolation or the Buried gets us.”

Jack gave Owen and Michael a salute, then began the ascent. Owen watched Tosh until she disappeared. She was hiding her face in Gwen's shoulder as they hugged.

"What's your deal, then?" Owen asked his buddy in undeath, so that he had something to focus on that wasn't a meltdown. 

Michael ran his fingers through his curly blond hair. “I used to work for Jon’s predecessor, until she turned me into a monster for her own purposes. She died before I could get any revenge. He and I were...maybe I’ll say ‘frenemies’ and leave it at that.”

Owen laughed darkly. “I suppose we can make a chapter of Turned Into Monsters By Our Bosses Anonymous.”

“Our first and only meeting.” Michael giggled, then sighed. “How long have you known that getting rid of the Entities was going to make you die properly?”

“Less than a day,” Owen admitted. “We thought it was just another alien artifact, but when I gave Jon my statement, Jon Knew that the Resurrection Gauntlet Jack used on me was an artifact of the End. Being brought to life by an artifact isn’t the same as being a full-fledged avatar. Jon has enough vital signs to turn into a regular human after his symbiote is gone. Probably. I don’t. Definitely. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the others and asked him to keep quiet about it. It's not like I could do my preferred last-day-alive things either, what with not being able to drink, eat, or shag."

“Mm. This is better than my previous last day. At least I got to make a few of my own choices, and I'm not alone this time. I hope Helen can turn back into a regular human. There might be enough of her left.”

“That’s quite a lot of black fire,” Owen commented. Everything seemed dreamlike now. The ground and ceiling shook again. 

Michael whispered, “Can you pretend to hold my hand? Please? I said I was ready, and, and I am, but I still…”

"I'll try." 

It didn’t turn out to be pretending at all. Something about Owen’s nature allowed him to feel the cold but soft fingers. Michael made a relieved sound and squeezed. Maybe with "the End" gone from the world, this would be less frightening soon. 

Owen waited to feel the fear of death leave him forever.


	7. Martin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a moment of a character thinking self-destructive thoughts that aren't suicidal, but could metaphorically be considered similar. It's dealt with quickly.

They emerged in the middle of a plaza, yet none of the ordinary humans around them could perceive them. Everyone was too busy fleeing from the sudden storm that was whipping up out of nowhere. The Vast wasn’t happy either, clearly. There were also Hunters with unnaturally sharp teeth crawling around the pavement sniffing for them, though, and grotesque bloated meat creatures that may have lumbered out of a butcher’s shop. Martin stopped looking around and focused on Jon, worried some vicious mannequins or something showed up next.

Jon opened the envelope with steady hands, though his body was shaking and he had to lean heavily on his cane. Martin had been the one who insisted on him using it regularly to compensate for the daily pain his body had experienced from its many traumas. Jon never took proper care of himself. Martin wasn't sure how much he believed the reassurances that this reverse ritual wouldn't kill Jon, but he saw no other options.

If Jon died from this, Martin knew exactly where he was going to go. He didn't think he'd manage to cling to this plane of existence long enough for a funeral, that he could even stay here for more than a few minutes. He'd go back where Jon found him seventeen days ago, where the cold fog would wrap around him like a balm and make him forget, where nothing else could hurt him...

Jon gave Martin a sad, searching gaze, then gave Jack a tap on the arm. "Captain, Martin's an excellent researcher and highly skilled at admin. His tie to the Institute was broken. If for...some reason...he needed a new position...and there were a vacancy in your team…I highly recommend him."

"Jon, you promised not to Know things about me," Martin hissed, though Jon's little gambit was warming on multiple levels. Both the panicked attempt to make sure he'd be cared for, and the contrast to back when Jon considered him an annoying and incompetent assistant.

"I didn't need to! You were starting to go transparent, Martin!" Jon hugged him and pressed their foreheads together, guiding him through a few deep breaths. Ianto gave him a tentative but sincere shoulder pat. The touches grounded him and the world rushed back into focus.

(As a child, Martin had read comic books and daydreamed of having superpowers. Invisibility and forgettability fueled by feeling isolated hadn't been one of them, but he supposed it was better than Jon's clairvoyance fueled by others' fears.)

Jack drew his gun to point at a crawling blobby horror that might have once been a chunk of ham. It was creeping in Gwen's direction despite theoretically not knowing for sure that she was there. Gwen looked more nauseated than frightened. "Jon, I promise to make sure Martin doesn't get Lonelified if something happens to you. You need to promise to do your thing right now."

"Tell me when to press this button," Tosh said quietly but steadily, her grief pushed aside for the moment.

“Right. I need nobody to touch me until I’m done,” Jon said, probably phrasing it like that to avoid hurting Martin’s feelings. He gave Martin the running tape recorder, which was the next best thing. Then he took a blue envelope from his pocket, opened it, and started to read aloud.

_Statement of the Time Lord known as The Doctor, regarding alien parasites affecting the Earth, along with their remedy. Written within the Time Vortex, therefore date inapplicable. Read by Jonathan Sims, Archivist._

_Hello, Jon. That’s what the records say your name was. Is. Good solid name, very popular. Sorry for the inconvenience. I’m not going to repeat all the information I gave Jack, since I’m sure he’s already told you. But there was a part I left out, a very special part just for you. You see, a powerful leader among the Fears has manipulated you into accumulating the psychic signatures of all their factions. This means that you saying the right words can serve as unifying marching orders, focusing all their energies simultaneously to create the portal that will allow their entire civilization to move in rather than only a few colonists. This also means you have the power to make them retreat._

_I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all this, but I’m glad it won’t have to be for nothing. It’s time for you to be magnificent. And this is also the point where Torchwood needs to make a small crack in the Rift. Have they done that yet? Have them do it NOW. I never lied to you, but there are things none of you could know, to avoid paradox and panic. There's something called the Watcher's Crown that must never have happened, Jon, but I know I got it right this time, you have no idea how many attempts this took. It doesn't matter anymore. The Doctor's Mantel will ensure that it never had been. Repeat after me:_

**You who left your world and seek to prey upon the peoples of the universe**

**You who latch onto our bodies and our minds and twist and torture us**

**You who invade and drain our lives and selves**

**Leave us in our wholeness**

**Leave us in our rightful imperfection**

**In the name of all that opposes you**

**In the name of all that is hope and all that is love and all that is our collective strength that soars and breathes and reveals and rises and recovers and returns and finds and frees and brightens and helps and mends and heals and LIVES!**

**LEAVE THIS PLANET!**

**I BANISH YOU FOREVER!**

Jon collapsed. Martin caught him before he hit hard pavement. Everything turned into dazzling light.

Then they were all suddenly back in the miraculously unharmed Hub. Michael was gone, but Owen was not the only body lying on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I take the badass canon quote "the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies" and try to figure out an opposing force for each one? Yes.
> 
> Also, did I use manifestations of the Flesh as comic relief because the Flesh is gross and scary but also sometimes kind of ridiculous? Yep.


	8. A Survivor

Torchwood was kind to Helen Richardson. They took her to the hospital, where she was treated for dehydration, exhaustion, and multiple forms of malnutrition, including scurvy. 

“Not a lot of Vitamin C in fear and anguish,” she joked to Jonathan Sims when he came to visit her. The two Torchwood agents who were the last people ever trapped in her maze had visited yesterday to reassure her that bygones would be bygones. The one who had felt wrong, indigestible, had even flirted a bit. It was the first thing to make her smile since becoming herself again. 

(She didn't just remember being Helen the Distortion, but also Michael's time as the Distortion. In her dreams she remembered the Great Twisting and the screaming rage of being forced into a human vessel rather than merely puppeting them. In her worst nightmares she felt echoes of untold eons of pure Spiral existence, confusion and malice and madness…)

Jon's voice brought her back. "I'm in a less dramatic version of the same boat. Martin urged me to do a physical, and we found out I’m severely anemic. I’m enjoying eating proper meals, actually. I never used to pay much attention to food.”

“I’m looking forward to that.” She was on a strict diet to avoid straining her digestive system too soon. Ooh, but eventually she could eat ice cream. Soon enough, she was going to eat a proper hot fudge sundae for the first time in years, and there was some consolation in that. 

“Would you like to come back to London with us when you’re discharged? We could, er, we could help you rebuild your life, and we'd appreciate your perspective. You and I aren’t the only ones who are trying to start afresh."

She couldn’t meet his gaze and looked out the window. “Is that your purpose now?”

“It’s as good a purpose as any.” He sounded uncertain, but not unhappy. 

“At least you crazy kids finally made it work.”

“At least we did,” Jon agreed, perking up. 

There was a knock at the door, and Martin poked his head in. “Can I join you? I’ve got some good news.”

Helen waved him in from the hallway, noting the irony of the scenario. 

“Just got off the phone with the real, original Elias. It wasn’t like it was for you two, where you were heavily influenced but still...able to act, I suppose? He was more like a costume than an avatar. He's decided to go by Eli. Sounded not quite all there when I talked to him, said he feels like he spent years in a haze watching what was going on, but he remembers some useful information. He’s happy to give us a lot of funding to assist people manipulated by the Fears if they want, on the condition that we include him. At the moment he's focusing on losing his eyes as a side effect of what was originally done to him. Says losing the connection mystic Eye on top of that worth getting his autonomy again, though. Melanie agreed to help him acclimate. Freelance."

"Ugh." Helen tucked a blanket more closely around herself. Having a proper body again was demanding, but at least she'd gotten all the original parts back. 

“I'm glad he's going to help, but there are plenty of loose ends," Jon said, slumping in his seat. “Avatars, cultists, victims. Those who are lost."

Martin took a seat next to Jon and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Basira’s going to find Daisy, okay? She’ll find her and bring her home and she’ll be Nice Daisy and not Hunt Daisy, permanently.”

“You made a good point. I wonder how many of us are going to try for normality again,” Helen mused. “I can’t imagine Jared Hopworth going back to...whatever he used to do before he made himself a bone-ripping meat creature. I can’t imagine him surviving all his modifications."

"I can imagine Simon Fairchild soaring along, shoving people into endlessly falling through the Vast as usual, then suddenly going splat when he lost his powers," Martin said. Helen snickered.

“Maybe we could track down Oliver Banks,” Jon suggested.

Martin's grip on Jon tightened. Just barely, but Helen had a keen eye for a bit of juicy drama. “You mean the death guy?” 

“That one. He didn’t come across to me as evil, and he did wake me up from my coma.”

“Hmph.”

“What?” Jon sounded honestly baffled.

“Nothing! Nothing at all.”

“Martin?”

Helen might not be evil (anymore), but lying around in the hospital waiting for her next counseling session was dull and she wanted to make her own entertainment. “You mean that End avatar? I met him once. He seemed like a very handsome and intelligent man. Polite, too.”

“Are you...jealous?” Jon asked, sounding like he was holding back a laugh.

“No! Not at all. Why should I be? And if I am, I mean, if I were, I would be justified! I visited you for weeks without a single peep from you, and he talks to you for five minutes…"

"More like fifteen, and let me remind you he had death-related powers -" 

"...Before you start bouncing around like a spring chicken! Why are you smiling?”

Jon's smile bloomed into a grin. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’m not going to wish misfortune on a man just because you’re jealous.”

Helen wished she was allowed popcorn. Hanging around these two would still be a laugh, even without her former Distorted sense of humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin's Season 5 exchange about Martin's jealousy towards Oliver Banks is one of the funniest moments in their relationship, and I just had to do a remix. [This is a cute animatic I found of the conversation I adapted.](https://youtu.be/5PaOudoliYo)


	9. Five Months Later

“Could you give me a minute?”

“Of course.”

Jon left Martin’s side and approached the grave with a bouquet of different colors of chrysanthemums. He divided the flowers between Owen and his fiancee, whose death by extraterrestrial brain worm had been Owen’s entire reason for joining Torchwood. His desire to be buried next to her was why he'd been laid to rest in London. It didn’t seem right to pile one side with flowers and leave the other one alone. 

“I hope you’re not actually here in any capacity, but it helps to process thoughts, sometimes." Jon used to talk to his parents' graves as a child, on the rare occasions that his grandmother took him. He squared his shoulders at the memory. "We’ve dedicated a memorial wall at the Archives to all the dead assistants we know of. I go there and have a one-sided conversation with Michael when I feel overwhelmed by what the Beholding made of me. Or Gerry. Putting his name next to his father's was all we could do for him, other than helping him move on. I still don't know what to say to Sasha except apologize. You, though, you reminded me of Tim in some ways, when you peeled back his jokes and charm. When you found the anger and pain."

It was dusk now, rapidly darkening. Jon didn't want to admit that he should have worn a thicker jacket. At least the asexual pride scarf that Daisy had knitted him as part of her new anger management coping mechanisms was soft and warm, if lumpy. 

"Martin and I are going back to Cardiff on Tuesday to do some negotiations with Torchwood, so we can pool our resources and information. Tosh might even visit us for a few days to help us with our new database. The Magnus Institute is actually going to be about making the world better from now on, what a thought. A big part of that is Martin. He's been our new Director as soon as Eli was able to step down and live his own life. Martin was basically running the Institute for months before all this, so he's doing a good job. I don't think I'm too biased."

The wind picked up, cold and damp. Jon adjusted his grip on his cane.

"You were the last person I...well, you're in my dreams a lot, even though everyone else I took statements from directly have somewhat faded. You spent so long poised on the knife edge between being afraid of death and being afraid of never dying. I hope nothing hurts for you anymore. Much less hurts for me these days, whether I deserve it or not."

That was too sad a note to end on. Jon searched for something Owen might have found funny. "Oh, we agreed to a double date with Jack and Ianto after all. When we're in Cardiff next week. Martin and Ianto won't stop texting each other about it. Making plans. At first I was against it, but we went on a pleasant double date with Georgie and Melanie last month. If we can successfully get dinner and drinks and enjoy a concert with my ex-girlfriend and a woman who once stabbed me, albeit for understandable reasons, then…"

Martin's footsteps approached again. "Are you ready to go, Jon? Group therapy in less than an hour. Annabelle's schemed up a special birthday surprise for Callum. A nice surprise. I checked."

"Right." Thankfully, Martin had stopped glaring at poor Oliver Banks during meetings, ever since the evening Jordan Kennedy had switched from talking about his nightmares full of evil ant hordes to announcing that he was Oliver's new boyfriend. 

"Until next time," Martin told the headstone, giving it a light touch with his fingertips. He pulled Jon into a soft, slow kiss before they headed back to the Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and especially for commenting!


End file.
